In My Corruption
by CortessaBlatt
Summary: She sought only to fulfill her passions. Atton was too easy... ask and one would receive... DSF ExileDisciple... or is it, really? Oneshot.


**In My Corruption**

_She sought only to fulfill her passions. Atton was too easy; ask and one would receive… DSF Exile/Disciple… or is it, really?_

**Rated PG13 **– Wellduh. Since when has there been a dark side fanfic rated under PG13?

**Disclaimer: **Anything I say is induced from lack of sleep. Beware. Beware. SANTA CLAUS KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE HE SEES YOU WHEN YOU'RE SLEEPING AND KNOWS WHEN YOU'RE AWAKE AND KNOWS WHAT YOUR SOCKS SMELL LIKE AND EATS YOUR USED TISSUES YOU'RE NEXT ON HIS LIST OR SOMETHING WATCH OUT OMG.

The end.

**In My Corruption**

I'm not sure how long it took me to realize I had embraced the dark side for what it is. I can only remember that I have indeed embraced it… that it struck me one evening as I sat with his body between my legs and a wineglass between my lips… He had been sleeping so drunkenly… so bloated and filled to the rim, satiated… all it took was alcohol, and me. Me, me, me, and that is why I am special. _Everybody _loves _me_. I'm _perfect. Beautiful. Flawless. _A _hero_, as it had been wisely put by Bao-Dur and the child, Disciple.

Mm… Disciple, yes…

He's just a child, isn't he? An infant. No, not in the literal sense… he… has developed… rather well… but there is something about those eyes. He is still naïve and a child, inside. It burns my blackened soul to see it, that something so beautiful could blossom beneath my very finger. He knows nothing of the truth; he tries to see things logically, through a rose-tinted window, like the foolish child he is. He has never felt blood leak between his fingers. He claims to have seen war but he knows nothing! He has never seen a gold-and-scarlet sky, a black blade of grass, a nighttime without a moon, a babe without its mother, a mother without her husband, a husband without his babe… He has felt nothing. He is blank!

Empty!

Why should he, someone gifted so, be able to live through life without knowing, without feeling life and death together, as it should be? To have a baby one must lose their virginity. For grass to grow it must be fertilized by the dead. For the plants to take in air and make oxygen they need someone to exhale. There is no life without death. There is no gain without loss. And yet he has never felt the loss. He has never felt a stab of jealousy, or anger, or hatred. He has never tasted alcohol, or any such sweet nectar, for fear it blind him and ruin him. He has never felt a woman's tongue against his flesh; he is untouched and pure, through and through.

I hate it.

I will _kill _it. Maim it until it is unrecognizable and ugly like me.

But that is only a minor reason that I want to ruin him. Oh, no, I couldn't care much more for whatever he feels in my presence… but whatever desire I had had for Atton is dead. We may go through the motions as much as we like, say what we wish, but I don't feel him anymore. He's just a body… a drunken body. He and I, we are in stagnation, now all sex and never passion. Our first few times… they had been absolutely beautiful… nothing could please me more than him. Yet somehow, as I slowly grew to realize what power I hold, we fell distant, and now he is nothing. Just something I may use with an extra hour. Atton is simply too easy; not a lover, just some lonely, broken man, using me as much as I use him. It was sex on command, nothing more.

But Disciple… Mical… he is a challenge.

A deliciously handsome challenge.

Or was he truly a challenge? I have never tried to see, to appeal to what matured man thrums beneath his innocent face. Will he be easy to seduce, foolish, earnest, trusting, and clueless until the last moment of it? Or will he stick to his silly morals of honesty and love, not lust?

I will have to be discrete. I have exhausted Atton; he lays there sleeping deeply even now while I pace around the room full-clothed again. But should he wake during my time with Mical, I can only imagine the consequences.

Yet, somehow, I do not care.

So, I strip off my outer robe, leaving me in my plain tunic, buttoned down enough to reveal a small strip of skin down my breasts. Has he any warm blood in him, it will be the tip of the scale. Or does he know anything of female anatomy? Does he understand what should please him and what should not? Is he as naïve as he makes out to be? I certainly hope not – then my efforts will be in vain.

I slip into the hallway and make my way to the medlab, where he is always working, so meticulously, on various systems, keeping the medical supplies to their full. He is a good man.

How difficult it is to see him and think 'man!' Those eyes scream, 'infantile, infantile, juvenile earnest!' I will change that, I promise to myself as I pause outside the medbay door. He hasn't noticed me yet; his back is turned to me as he meticulously re-ties a loose end on a breaker. I watch him with fascination, drawing a finger up my own thigh to remind myself of my task. If I were wearing shoes, I would step out of them, but I am not. Slowly, my eyes never leaving the back of his head, sucking gently on my lower lip, I pull off my gloves.

The sound of the fabric running against my skin alerts him. He suddenly stops – I watch amusedly as he scans the ship with the Force. Upon realizing it is me, he turns around.

"Oh!" he gasps, like the child he is. "It is you." His voice is rich and soft, like it always has been, ringing on the vowels. It's a sensuous voice. He doesn't realize how desirable he is… if only his eyes did not throw the whole thing off.

I lean against the doorframe craftily, watching him, tilting my torso forward just far enough. He doesn't even shift. Instead he gazes warmly into my face. I offer him a coy smile that he does not seem to understand and say quietly, "Yes. It's me."

Concern flickers over his features for just a moment. "Your voice…" he murmurs thoughtfully. "You sound different. Are you feeling alright?"

My lips curl into a grin. Clueless. "Never better," I say lightly.

He shakes his head. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

He nods uncertainly, glancing back at his work. He is unwilling to turn his back to me, but does not want to abandon his station. Loyal and dedicated… work first, fun later, rank before priority.

So he isn't entirely simple.

"Oh, your work can wait," I tell him, picking myself up off of the wall. "I want to talk to you."

He watches me warily, his feet unmoving, as I slowly approach him, arch around him, and stand behind him. His head is tilted slightly as he cautiously gazes back at me. I look back into his eyes challengingly, daring him to respond as I press my hands to the small of his back. All I can see in those innocent blue orbs is confusion.

I slid my hands, slowly, around his waist, then upwards, over his chest. I hear his breath catch – Good. Good, good, good. I press my palm flat against his chest while the fingers of my other hand tease the inside of his outer robe.

He shudders. "What are you doing?" he asks, in such a quiet voice it is but a whisper.

The hand on his chest slides up and braces his head as I press my lips to his neck. He abruptly freezes; I can hear him hiss with surprise. "Don't tell me you don't understand," I mumble, allowing my tongue to caress his skin, "Mical."

He jerks out of my grasp, stumbling forward and whirling around to face me. He backs up until he reaches the medical cot, where he stops, his eyes fixed on me. I see concern, shock, and caution in his eyes. He is afraid and confused, but somewhere underneath I can feel the flickering of longing that I have pried from its shell. I can hear his heartbeat quicken.

"What… what are you doing?" he asks again, warily, frowning. He presses the heel of his hand to his neck and rubs, as if to rid himself of me. There is a faint flush to his cheeks.

I move towards him. He frantically searches for a way out, but by that time, I am pressed against him, my fingers resting against his lower stomach. He twists uncomfortably, his mouth twisted into a displeased frown, as I move against him sensually.

"No," he moans, trying to push me away. He is trembling – restraining himself.

Smug pleasure rises in me. My fingers find his belt buckle; my lips find his throat.

"Please! Stop!" he cries.

Ignoring him, I undo his belt. Staring into his eyes with a monstrous satisfaction, I throw his belt aside. I listen as it thuds loudly on the floor.

"You know you want it," I growl to him.

"No," he says, trying to escape, but I have him cornered. "Let me go. Please… I…"

I push him back onto the cot.

He tries to roll off, race for the door, but I catch him before he can even reach the floor.

"Please, please," he begs, tugging on his robes, which I cling tightly to. I drink in the frantic beating of his heart, the innocence slowly being leeched from him. He realizes what I'm doing – he is no longer blind to the first touches of passion. I shove him roughly backwards. He falls back on the floor and stars up at me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

I have already poisoned him. I know now that if I do claim him, he will be mine forever, and even if I do not, it is too late for him. So, I slowly rise from the cot and instead straddle him on the floor. He cries out, terrified, but I press my fingers to his lips.

"You're not listening," I whisper, and pull his robe from his body.

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**Author's Notes: **I'm… not sure what possessed me to write this. I think I haven't slept enough. It's probably a mix of Russian music, Moulin Rouge, and various fanfictions/fanart. Regardless, I feel kind of… whoa. You know? I understand if you hate me – my fanfictions are just going all over the place. I mean, a lesbian Mira, a baby Disciple, the dude from Peragus, an evil Revan/Exile/Atton, three chaptered fanfictions…? What am I coming to? Omg.

And then I started screaming about Santa Claus stalking everybody. Wut up wit dat? BUT I STILL LOVE YOU GUYS. I STILL LOVE YOU.


End file.
